The Recipe for an Angel
by Elven Ink
Summary: **COMPLETE** Crowley needs to cheer up Aziraphale. The discovery of something called 'angel food cake' seems to be the obvious solution. He could just miracle one, but that would defeat the purpose of the gesture...


**AN: Originally posted to my Tumblr. **_  
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* * *

Even though Aziraphale would never admit it, Crowley had been all too aware of the angel's growing illness. Though Crowley was no longer an angel himself, he knew well the feeling of being _just _on the outskirts of Heaven. On an emotional level, the demon hadn't cared as much as Aziraphale seemed to that Heaven didn't really accept him with open arms back in his angel days; Crowley had always thrived on being something of an outlier.

But the point remains that angels are beings of love. They sense it, dish it out, and most importantly, they _exist _on it.

Without love, angels have been known to simply waste away like so much dust in the wind.

Crowley had once experience this love-deprived state first-hand. The cold snaps of loneliness, the creeping exhaustion snaking up the mind that no mere nap could rid them of, (though the temptation to sleep away a few days or weeks or years would often grow exponentially despite this). Yes, a love-starved angel was a poorly creature indeed.

So when Crowley found Aziraphale in a restless sleep once again, sprawled face-first on his desk, his wings haphazardly on show and limply hanging behind his hunched-over back, there was only one logical route to take.

A display of love needed to be deliver to this poor angel.

A quick trip to the shops later and the demon snuck through the bookshop, tip-toeing to avoid waking the tired angel, and headed through the back room to the small kitchenette. Crowley's apartment didn't have a kitchen, and so it took awhile for him to figure out _what _everything was, let alone _where_ it was.

Miracling an apron around himself, (aptly emblazoned with the phrase **'**_**I'm a Looker, Not a Cooker'**_as a warning to anyone who may attempt to eat what he was about to create), Crowley set about studying the recipe book and the carefully-laid out ingredients he'd set along the countertop.

"Angel food cake. How hard can it be?" Crowley muttered to himself. He'd been quite proud of himself for finding the recipe, and he was quite impressed that humans had thought to create such confectionary for their feathered friends above. There was no question in his mind that Aziraphale would love it. Angel. Cake. Food. It was basically a perfect solution.

A miracle was out of the question, of course. There was little to no effort in a miracle, save for the paperwork (especially as a demon; a blessing as a demon required a _lot _of paperwork). Crowley knew he had to _make the effort_. After all, it was the effort that counted. Or the thought. But thought-cake wasn't much of a gift.

He poured sugar into a blender, then pressed the button on the base. As soon as the machine whirred to life, Crowley leapt up in fright, the blender stopping immediately and the demon attaching himself to the ceiling like some strange, lanky sloth. His eyes were fixed firmly on the door.

Aziraphale didn't appear. Good, then he had not woken up.

Maybe one little miracle would be allowed.

The sugar pulsed down to a fine dust within the blender without it roaring back to life. Crowley thought about blending it. It was the thought that counted.

Mixing the dry ingredients together was boring, but when the recipe called for the chef to 'beat eggs', Crowley's mouth split into a wide grin.

Several cartons of eggs punched, kicked, thrown, and stomped on later and Crowley realised he'd rather misinterpreted the word 'beat'.

Another miracle was required. Three strikes, he told himself reasonably. Three strikes and _then _it wouldn't count as an effort made on his part anymore.

Sifting was fine, but the next challenge came at _folding_ the ingredients. Crowley thought it quite unsanitary to get his hands involved to fold the mixture.

It occured to Crowley, as he tried to fold sugar and flour into the definitely-beaten eggs with his bare hands, that humans were weird creatures to fold eggs and flour like clothes. By the time it came to pouring the mixture into the tin, the demon was wearing more of it up to his elbows than was in the bowl.

He debated putting himself in the oven for a good few seconds.

With the cake in the oven, Crowley began flicking through the cookbook again. He wanted the cake to really bring a smile to Aziraphale's face and, while he was sure it would taste...of something, the demon felt it needed _something else_. Something to decorate it.

"Whipped cream," Crowley said to himself, brow knotting. First they were beating eggs, now they were whipping cream. Humans were really, _really_ bizarre. Perhaps Hell ought to be keeping a closer eye on them.

Still, _whipped cream_ certainly sounded like something a demon could excel at creating.

* * *

Aziraphale awoke with a start as the sound of something snapping echoed through the bookshop. A flutter of feathers and the thump of several books falling off his desk as he jolted awake followed the sound, and the angel looked around with wide-eyed panic.

"What the—Crowley? Is that you?"

In reply, another loud _crack! _echoed through the shop, making Aziraphale jump and give a small squeak of "_Oh my!" _

Getting slowly to his feet and remembering to hide his wings away (as well as noting to himself to be more careful with that), Aziraphale slowly walked towards the back room where the sound had come from. The loud snapping sounded twice more, making the angel flinch mid-step each time.

"Crowley? What are you d—?"

He crossed through the back room and into the kitchenette, surprised that Crowley of all people would be in there. When he opened the door, Aziraphale was simultaneous _more _surprised and indeed, _less _surprised at what he saw.

Standing in his kitchen, surrounded by a mini-apocalypse of shattered eggs and strewn flour, Aziraphale's favourite demon was standing on the counter, brandishing a very large bullwhip against what used to be a small bowl of cream on the floor beneath him. Said bowl had been smacked to bits by the aforementioned whip, and its contents sprayed over every inch of the kitchen — and indeed, all over Crowley.

"How the humans manage to make _that _by whipping it is beyond me. The _accuracy _you'd need, honestly, are we _sure _they don't do miracles?" Crowley asked Aziraphale, looking utterly defeated.

Aziraphale blinked.

"...C-Crowley...my dear boy..._why _are you in my kitchen? With a...whip?"

"..._Whipped_ cream, angel," Crowley replied, as though the answer were quite reasonable and obvious. "I need it for the cake I'm making for you."

He gestured to the cake sitting on the other side of the room on a wire rack. A little misshapen, but in truth, it did look and smell rather lovely.

Aziraphale couldn't help the smile that grew over his lips, his cheeks burning pink.

"For _me_? Whyever for?"

"Well," Crowley hopped down from the counter, scowling at the bowl of cream as though it had ruined all his plans. Which, really, it had. "Just, y'know...wanted to cheer you up a bit. I'll er...I'll clean this up." He gestured around the room and then to himself. He was wearing a rather copious amount of cake batter and half-splattered cream, as well as a devilish grin as he leaned in to the angel saying: "Actually, wanna taste?"

"_Crowley!" _Aziraphale hopped back from Crowley's cake-batter-covered offered cheek, the blush on his own cheeks now extending all the way up to his hair as the demon cackled.

"Oh give over, it's nice! Your loss," he said, licking his own fingers. "Mmm, actually, I think I put too much sugar in..is it meant to taste like that?" He offered a different finger to Aziraphale.

The angel stared at it.

"Ah...I-I-I-I...well, I mean...I-I'm sure it's quite lovely, er...we-we should wait for the cake," he pointedly nodded to the actual, finished cake, "to cool! A-a-and find out that way!"

Crowley shrugged, licking another finger absently for himself.

"Suit yourself. Book says you're _supposed _to lick the batter though."

"...Does it?"

"Mmm, apparently. It's the right way to finish off baking a cake or...something."

The demon looked rather put-out even in his feigned indifference, and Aziraphale was quite sure either his brain or heart melted for the sight of it. Crowley really had made such an effort for him, and the whole action radiated with love. A precious thing indeed, particularly from a demon. He could feel it stitching the wounds of his own heart, the energy of the act of love chasing away his exhaustion a little. He was starting to feel just a little _better_.

"W-w-well, if...if that's how...how baking is done th-then..." Aziraphale stammered, before very quickly darting his tongue out to swipe a little of the cake batter from Crowley's still-offered hand. It was terribly sweet, but not at all in bad way. In fact, it was really quite lovely, and certainly tickled the angel's rather potent sweet-tooth.

"Verdict, angel?" The demon grinned.

"...It's _lovely_, Crowley," Aziraphale smiled back, before feeling bold enough to take another lick of the cake batter. "My compliments to the _chef_."


End file.
